


not quite divine intervention

by randomfills (spnfanatic)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angels, Apocalypse, BAMF Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Dean Winchester Whump, Dean Winchester is Special, Dean Winchester-centric, Demons, Fantasy, Gen, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Torture, Wizards, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25159033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnfanatic/pseuds/randomfills
Summary: A/U.Harry Potter x Supernatural crossover. Book 1 of HP, Season 4 of SPN. Dean is not where he is supposed to be when Castiel resurrects him. Dumbledore is not quite sure what to make of a suddenly staggering man on the verge of collapse right in front of the school. This is not part of his plan. This is not part of anyone’s plan. Soon two very different wars will collide. Mostly Dean-centric, some Harry-focus. Multi POV shifts
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	not quite divine intervention

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's been a while, and I know this isn't my usual story, but this idea hit me out of nowhere and I've really been wanting to get back to writing some crossovers. I will still be writing for other prompts but I wanted to write a Dean-centric story. I'll be honest. I don't know how often this will be updated.

Time flows differently in Hell. Alastair says it’s faster. Months on Earth are years in Hell. Dean knows Alastair is a demon and demons lie, but sometimes demons tell the truth too. Somehow, Dean is sure that Alastair isn’t lying about this. He isn’t sure how he’s so sure but he is. After he claws his way out of the ground, body exhausted and bright sunlight shining down on him, he thinks briefly, maybe this is another trick. But again, there’s a part of him that is sure this isn’t. There are no hooks and no screaming and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the need to breathe, unlike down in the Pit. Most importantly there are no demons. No Alastair.

Just the bright rays of sunshine and the cloudless, blue sky and the chirping of birds and the hard gravel of the road and the roaring engines of occasional passing cars - things he hasn’t heard in years, in decades. If this is another trick, Dean thinks it’s an impressive one and he’d probably curl up in a ball and cry when he sees himself back in the Pit and Alastair smiling down at him, demonic looking with his horns and tails and wings and all those massive, sharp teeth.

_“I have come to save you, Dean Winchester. You are the Righteous Man.”_

His head throbs and he wants to lay on his side and curl in on himself. He doesn’t remember everything. But he remembers enough. He remembers the Hellhounds that came for him, that ripped him into shreds like he was a slab of meat. He remembers Sammy screaming and Lilith giggling. He remembers the hooks and hanging from them for days, weeks, months, before Alastair came to see him. He remembers the countless years of being sliced into, chopped into tiny pieces (“There goes a pretty little finger, Dean, surely you don’t need that”, “Whoops, guess you didn’t need your nose either”, “How about one of those pretty, green eyes”), until there’s nothing left, then suddenly he’s whole again. And it starts all over. For years. For decades. 

Then one day it stops. 

_“Take my hand, Dean, as tight as you can and I will raise you from perdition.”_

Dean’s memory starts to blur. He blinks up at the sky and takes in a deep breath. He takes in the nearly overwhelming scents of trees, and dirt, of the outside world. He isn’t in Hell anymore. He can breathe again. He can smell again. He can see color. And suddenly he’s overcome with thirst and hunger and he finds himself sitting up, then staggering to his feet. He looks around, unsure where he is. Unsure where he’s supposed to go.

_Follow the road._

He’s startled by the sudden, clear thought. It echoes through his mind, sharp and loud, almost like someone is right next to him and had said it out loud. But there is no one here but him. And so he does the only thing he can do: walk.

-

Albus Dumbledore knows it’s going to be an interesting year. The boy who lived - Harry Potter - is right where he is supposed to be, with the _Dursleys_. They are not exactly his first choice, but Harry unfortunately has no other family and if he’s being honest, Harry is a lot safer with a bunch of muggles, even very unpleasant muggles like Petunia and Vernon Dursley, than anyone in the wizarding world right now. Especially with Voldemort still lurking somewhere out there. One of Albus’ top priorities is ensuring Harry’s safety. 

Besides, the summer is almost over. Two more weeks and the halls of Hogwarts will be overflowing with young, bright eyed witches and wizards, including the child prodigy Harry Potter. Hagrid will make sure Harry finds his way to Hogwarts so Albus isn’t worried. Not really. He walks up the large staircase and goes straight to his office. 

Fawkes, his ever loyal companion, a great red phoenix, awakens from his nap and looks up at Albus. 

Albus smiles and says, “Hello, my dear friend, Fawkes.” He walks past the phoenix, turning his gaze out the window. It’s a beautiful day. Cloudless, and blue and the sun shining brightly down on the earth. “It is a marvelous day, is it not?” He hears Fawkes answer him with the flapping of his wings. Albus turns back to the phoenix. His eyes soften, and his smile widens, “Imagine, Fawkes, in just two weeks, this school will be filled again with the chatter and laughter of the greatest, brightest witches and wizards the world has to offer.” _Among them, the boy who lived_ …


End file.
